


Wet n' Wild

by hothead



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Diego Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Diego Hargreeves-centric, Drowning, Gen, Good Sibling Luther Hargreeves, Near Death Experiences, Pre-Canon, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Siblings, Stuttering Diego Hargreeves, five is gone but not forgotten :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25406176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hothead/pseuds/hothead
Summary: “I went down to the river and I sat down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn't, so I jumped in and then I sank.”(Diego discovers a new power. It doesnotgo well.)
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Luther Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & The Hargreeves
Comments: 35
Kudos: 347





	Wet n' Wild

Missions go easy most of the time. There are unspoken rules, the plan all evil-doers seem to abide by in their masterplan. Diego is used to the routine now, craves it even; get in, kill the bad guys, protect any hostages, get out, have their photo taken for the news. Repeat.

He enjoys it when there’s something new; a bomb that needs to be disposed of, a building that needs to be scaled, maybe even one of those sporadic solo missions that Dad lets him have a few times a year. Luther gets more than that, but when it comes to stealth, Diego knows he’s their dad’s first choice. The _best_ choice.

This mission had been one of those repeats. Diego had brought up the rear after the others, managed to get three bad guys with one throw, and even saved Klaus’ ass when a hostage got a hold of a gun and went a little power-crazy.

“Number Two!”

Diego shakes his head free of thoughts, looks up the car to where Reginald Hargreeves is staring back at him impatiently. His siblings are also peeking back at him in the way that means this isn’t the first time Dad’s called his number.

“S-Sir?”

“Number Two, pay attention,” Dad says sharply, tapping his cane on his knees. Diego can see the swing of it over the top of the car bench. “Despite what you seem to presume, participation in mission reports is mandatory for all of you.”

“S-ssss-” _Just picture the word in your mind,_ Mom’s voice says, soft and sweet as she strokes a hand over his short hair, kisses his cheek. “S- _sorry.”_

Dad looks irritated. He turns his head in dismissal, looks back out the window. Luther, sat next to Dad, smiles, just a smug little curl at the corner of his mouth, before he turns back around in his seat. Diego’s fists bunch-up so hard his leather gloves squeak.

Diego looks down at his lap, at the two straps he has secured tightly around his thighs. His knife holsters. He touches the handle of one gently, carefully, and takes a sharp breath, holds it in his lungs. He’s not allowed to take his knives out of their holsters unless he’s training or on a mission, but touching them when he dares to is often enough to ease the tightness he feels sometimes. Stop the rush of blood in his ears from escalating to where he has to hit somebody to make it stop.

“Psst,” a soft voice says. “Psst, Diego!”

Diego has the back row. He likes it there because he can pretend he’s somewhere else, close his eyes and tilt his head back against the seat without Dad seeing. Dad always sits in the first row, behind the driver, a man who never speaks and whose name they don’t know, and usually next to stupid Luther.

Allison sits behind Luther, mostly so she can nudge at his feet under the chair and whisper in his ear. The back of his neck always goes red when she does that, and Diego hates it. Why do they have to be so gross all the time?

Vanya sits next to Allison, right behind Dad. Diego’s not sure why she even bothers to comes along, but so long as she doesn’t sit next to him, he’s okay with it. When Diego looks at Vanya, his stomach feels strange, like he’s jealous or something, but he’s not sure why. What’s there to be jealous of _Vanya_ for?

Behind Vanya and Allison sit Ben and Klaus, who like to play thumb war and make up secret friend handshakes during long car rides. Sometimes they turn around to include Diego, but not often. Klaus says he’s too quiet and boring to play proper games, and Ben says its best they don’t twist round in their seats too much. Lest Dad notice and separate them.

Diego used to sit next to Five, but not anymore. He sits in the back row by himself, doing a lot of thinking. It’s nice to say words in his head and not have them come out all jumbled. If only he could make the words come out of his mouth normally. Then maybe he’d whisper over the seat to Ben or Klaus, or ask to sit in the front with Dad like Allison sometimes gets away with doing, or - or -

“Two!”

Diego looks up. Klaus is peering at him over the seat back, eyes crinkled mischievously.

 _“What,_ Klaus?” The words come out normal. His stomach does an excited flip at the thought of telling Mom. Maybe she’ll touch his hair, or rub his back, or even _hug_ him.

“Thanks,” Klaus says. The car is quiet of conversation, but the drone of the radio and the engine's rumble cover enough sound that they can get away with whispering. “For saving me back there, I mean. Like my knight in shining armor.”

Ben nods. He’s shorter than even Vanya now, so Diego can barely see the top of his head over the seat.

His face burns, his cheeks hot with pride. Klaus is annoying, but Diego would always have his back, keep him safe from danger. He’s Number Two, so he’s gotta look out for Three, Four, Six and Seven. Luther is the boss, but Two is the second in command, which makes him responsible for the others.

“S’okay,” Diego mumbles. “Don’t m-m-m, don’t _mmm_ -” He closes his eyes, feels a hot flush of shame. “Don’t m-mention it, Four.”

Klaus bobs his head. “Wanna come hang out with us after dinner?”

Ben has the biggest bedroom out of everybody, so he and Klaus like to string their blankets up in the closet to pretend they’re camping. Mom even sneaks them marshmallows and mugs of hot cocoa with whipped cream when she can get away with it. Diego gets invited sometimes, but he never goes. He stands in front of Ben’s door, hand raised to knock, when his knees will tremble, and he always ends up slinking back to his own room in shame.

“It’ll be fun,” Ben adds. Everybody loves Ben. He’s Klaus’ favorite, and he was Five’s best friend, and Dad probably even likes him best because his powers are so strong, despite how sure Luther is that he's Dad's pride and joy.

Diego nods. “Alright.” He’ll do it this time. Maybe Mom will make cookies too if he asks nicely. The oatmeal ones are his favorite, even if Allison says they’re boring, and he always requests them on October 1st. Their birthday is the only day they’re really allowed to have special treats, after all.

Klaus and Ben smile secretively, and Diego yearns to be a part of it, but they go back to their game, and his opportunity is over. He’s alone in the back again, next to Five’s empty seat.

When Five was still around, months and months ago, he would never say much on car rides. Dad always let him get away with more; scribble math equations in his notebooks or mutter theories under his breath when the rest of them had to stay silent. Five wasn’t like the rest of them, after all - wasn’t like most people. He loved math and order and pushing boundaries. That made him more like Dad than Diego and his other brothers and sisters, and Dad probably liked that similarity a whole lot.

But, sometimes, when Diego had messed up and gotten hurt, or when his words would come out slipping and sliding too quickly for him to grasp and pull back, Five would hold his hand. Secretly, just in the space between their seats, and he’d not look away from his notebook. Still, his hand would slide down into Diego’s, and their sweaty fingers would cling together.

Their last mission had been a day before Five ran away, and that had been a bad one. Diego had missed a bad guy, and a lady running from the fight had been hit with a stray bullet. He had tried to keep her insides where they were supposed to be, but by the end of the mission, she’d been dead, and Diego's hands had been slick with blood. He had sat in the back afterward, trembling, the crystal clear image of her gasping mouth, the crimson spilling from her chest, playing on a loop in his mind. Five had touched his arm, ignoring the blood caked under Diego's nails and in the lines on his palm, and intertwined their fingers.

Diego misses Five like a bullet wound throbs, like a stab to the chest leaks blood. His brother may have been hot-headed and arrogant and impatient, but he’d also been kind and sweet at heart, always looking out for them. Five had always seemed older, perhaps fourteen to their thirteen, and wise beyond those years besides. Diego likes to fantasize that one day his brother will come back and take them with him to wherever he ended up, to a new home with a big garden and a dog or two, maybe. Mom will come with them, and they’ll all go to school to make friends, and Diego will learn to speak normally, and they won’t ever see Dad again. It’s a sweet dream, even if impossible.

He looks out the window at the weather, eyes the cloudy grey sky slowly making its way towards them. He doesn’t recognize the street they’re on, but it can’t be far from the Academy. The journey to the mission hadn’t been much longer than an hour, and they'd now driving for ages. He’s tired, but he knows better than to fall asleep. The last person to do that had been Klaus, and Dad had left him locked inside the car all night as a punishment.

“Woah,” blurts Luther. Loudly. Diego stares down the car at him. Since when does Luther talk in the car unless he’s giving Dad a report? “Dad, do you see that?”

“Quiet, Number One,” Dad orders. “Pull over here!”

The driver stops the car, and Diego cranes his neck and tries to lean over Five’s empty seat to see what all the commotion’s about. Now that he’s concentrating, he can hear car horns honking and people yelling. Has there been an accident? Were people hurt?

“Stay here!” Dad orders as he climbs out, the driver following. As soon as their doors are shut, the others immediately start talking.

“What’s happening?” asks Klaus, who is on the wrong side like Diego and Vanya, making them unable to see much of anything. “Ooh, tell me there’s a flash mob!”

Luther glares at him. “Don’t be stupid, Klaus! It looks like there’s been a big accident.”

“Should we get out and help?” Allison worries. She’s leaned forward and is petting at Luther’s hair like he’s a cat.

“No,” Luther says decisively. “We should wait for Dad.”

“But somebody could be in trouble,” Vanya says softly. “They might fall in.”

“Fall in?” Diego repeats. “W-w-w-wh-...how come?”

“We’re on a bridge,” Luther reports. He glances over his shoulder at Diego as if to say 'what is wrong with you?'. “There _are_ a lot of people hurt...” He sounds unsure now. “But...Dad said to stay here.”

“I’m sure he’ll get over it,” Klaus huffs. He opens his door and swings his legs out. It’s deafening outside. “Now, come on!”

Diego fidgets as he watches Klaus disappear from sight.

“Oh no,” moans Ben, hiding his face.

“Don’t worry, Six,” says Luther confidently. “Four will be fine.”

Ben just shakes his head.

They sit, anxious, for about thirty seconds. Allison lets out a yelp when a face suddenly appears in her window, rapping on the glass.

Klaus stares back at them. “What are you waiting for?”

Luther opens his door cautiously. “Dad said?”

“Duh,” says Klaus. “Now, come on!”

Diego gets out of the car. The noise hits him like a sledgehammer, but the first thing he sees is the bridge. It’s huge, one of those really long suspension ones he’s read about in lessons with Mom, and it's sort of familiar too. He thinks they might have stopped a bomb threat near here at some point. About a dozen cars are piled up on the bridge, with many more blocked in place and unable to move. There’s an overturned yellow school bus crushed up against the safety railing and people _everywhere._ He can hear sirens off in the distance, but there’s none on the scene yet. The Umbrella Academy are the first ones there.

“Number One!” Dad calls. He’s standing on the sidewalk with the driver, cane in hand. He looks unruffled and mostly just annoyed at the delay to their journey back to the Academy. “Evacuate the civilians, as we've practiced!”

“Yes, sir,” Luther says. “Allison, try and keep people calm and get them off the bridge as quickly as possible. Klaus, stay with Ben, and make sure the people that are hurt aren’t in any danger. Two!” Diego looks at him. Luther never calls him anything but his number, and it burns something fierce in his chest. Anger, maybe. “Come with me!”

Diego wants to argue, but he’s not Diego at the moment. Diego likes hugs and oatmeal cookies and holding hands with Five and practicing getting the words right, but Two doesn’t. Two likes saving people and throwing knives and making Dad proud.

Two follows Luther down the street. He jumps up onto a car to escape the scramble of people trying to run in the other direction. The metal dents under his leather uniform shoes as he runs up the trunk and stands on the roof for a better view. The bus' door is on the side flat to the ground, but there’s a guy with a bloody face trying to smash open one of the windows at the back. He looks like he's going to give up soon, though.

“Luther!” Two calls, pointing. Luther wrenches the door off a crumpled sedan and pulls out a baby carrier with a wailing infant inside.

“No, take care of the cars first!” Luther orders. “The ones at the front!”

Two wants to argue. Surely, it's best to get the bus done first, given that it’s so close to the edge of the bridge, and all the kids inside are still trapped. He looks between the bus and the cars, then over at Luther. His brother isn’t paying attention to him, so Diego hops to the roof of another empty vehicle.

He heads towards the school bus, then pauses. Two glances over his shoulder at Dad, who’s staring right back at him disapprovingly. He heard what Luther said and knows that Two’s ignoring it. He’s shaking his head. Two’s breath hitches. He knows what happens when Dad thinks he’s becoming disobedient on missions, that his specialized training will be worse if he doesn’t do what Luther says.

Heart racing, Two switches course. He drops onto the street, pushes past the frantic civilians, and reaches an overturned SUV with tinted windows. He grabs a knife from his holster and smashes the driver’s side in.

A big lady with dangling hoop earrings is hanging upside down in her seat, still belted in. Two touches her arm, shakes her a little. He feels for a pulse, and there isn’t one. Then he sees how the steering wheel is shoved up into her stomach, dripping blood down her floral dress and into the roof of the car. She's definitely dead. He peers around her into the back seat to double-check, but there’s no one else inside; just this lady alone in her last moments.

“Sorry,” he says softly, hesitating when he goes to touch her again because she won’t feel it, not anymore. He moves on.

The next car is in better shape and looks like it’d gone into the central divider and may have even been the first vehicle in the pile-up. The SUV had slid straight into the back of it, which is why the dead lady’s steering wheel is so mangled.

The driver’s door is open, but there’s a guy in the passenger’s seat that’s groaning and twitching. He had blood in his hair and down his face, but that looks about it. In the back is a barking dog, but Two doesn’t have much experience with them, so he can’t tell if it’s injured. There’s no blood, at least.

“Rowan,” the guy groans, tossing his head deliriously. “Rowan...”

Two unbuckles the seatbelt, shakes the man’s shoulder. The ground rumbles beneath his feet. The dog is still barking furiously at him. “Hey!” he calls. “W-w-wake up!”

The guy’s eyes flutter, and he stares fuzzily up at Two. “Who’re you?”

Two grabs the guy’s arm, tries to prise him out of the seat, but he’s too heavy, and his left leg is twisted awkwardly underneath the bent dashboard. Two spots Luther lifting an old lady over a twisted car part. “One!” he calls.

Luther twists and sees his plight. He vaults a car and pushes Two out of the way. “Sir, stay calm,” he orders stiffly, reaching in to lift the man with no effort. “I’ll get you to safety.”

“W-W-Ww _wait!”_ Diego fumbles, catching his brother's arm. He leans into the backseat and grabs the dog’s leash. It snaps at him, but he drags it from the vehicle and wraps the leash around Luther’s unresisting hand. “His dog - Rowan.”

Luther looks at him strangely, but then he’s off, the dog pulled along beside him, and the guy groaning in his arms.

Two picks up his knife from where it’d fallen and turns to the last of the five cars right at the beginning of the pile-up. It seems to be the worse off, even more crumpled than the SUV, and he doubts anyone would have survived that, but he has to check. Dad always says to never assume anything because people can survive a lot more than you think.

Surprisingly enough, the lady in the minivan is still alive. She’s awake and coherent, trying to twist in the driver’s seat to see into the back, but the twisted seatbelt has her pinned. Two’s pretty sure she has a broken leg, because her face is pale from shock and her lap is red with blood.

“Please,” she cries as soon as she sees him at her window. “Help my daughter first!”

Two smashes the back window with the butt of his knife and reaches inside to unbuckle a girl around his own age. She’s hyperventilating, lips clenched tightly together, and an old blanket pressed tightly to a long cut on her thigh.

“I know you,” she says, eyes round at the sight of his face and his uniform. Two preens. “You’re from the Umbrella Academy comics.”

“Don’t m-m-m,” He takes a deep breath, neck hot with embarrassment. “Stay still.” He crawls through the broken window into the backseat, tearing open his knees on the broken glass, and wraps the makeshift-bandage even tighter around her injured leg.

“I can walk,” the mom says. “My ankle is twisted, but I can walk - _please,_ we need to get her to a hospital.”

Two uses his knife to saw through her twisted seatbelt, and she stumbles out of the minivan and around to her daughter’s side. She slides open the door, and Two helps her lift the girl out and into her arms. She’s stronger than she looks, lifting a thirteen-year-old without so much as a wince, even with the way her ankle is swelling purple and black. It’s definitely broken, but Two isn’t about to go telling her that right now. The adrenaline has definitely numbed all her pain.

“Wait,” pants the girl, craning to see Two over her mother's shoulder. “Wait, are you Number Four?”

Two’s stomach churns with anger. “I'm Two,” he says, climbing out of the minivan. The mom kisses the girl's cheek fitfully. "Number _Two."_

“Thank you, Number Two!” calls the girl over her mother’s shoulder, and then they’re gone.

Two grabs his knife from the backseat, surveys the scene. Luther’s lifting a truck so Allison can pull an unconscious guy from underneath, but either the guy’s more substantial than he looks, or Allison’s injured because she's having trouble managing him. Two shakes his thoughts free of Luther and Allison, knowing they can handle themselves. The school bus is still on its side, and the good samaritan from before is nowhere to be seen.

Two runs, rolls across a car hood, and scales the side with a foot on the back bumper. He barely feels the broken glass as he smashes in the window with his knife and clambers inside.

They're middle school kids, none of them older than ten, and about fifteen or so little faces. Most are crying, but a few are unconscious. Two freezes for a moment, unsure what to do, then he realizes he has no idea if there’s been a gas leak; he needs to get these kids out as quickly as possible before something catches alight or the bus topples off the bridge. Whichever is worse.

“I want my mom!” one kid wails, and then they’re all yelling and crying, fully in panic-mode. Two tries the handle of the door on the back, but it’s stuck tight. He kicks it, wiggles the lock up and down. _Just when he actually needs Luther for once..._

Two jams his knife between the frame and the door and puts all his weight into it. He leans back and topples, hard, to the floor when the seal pops. His fingerless gloves do little to protect his fingers from the broken glass, and blood smears on the handle when he tries the door. It flops open to stop halfway like a pirate plank, but that’ll do, especially given that he can hear an ominous creaking sound that sends shivers up his spine.

“Come here!” He calls down the bus. “It’s okay, don’t be scared!”

Grabbing a little girl around the waist, Two hoists her up onto the door and leans out the bus. The ground below is strewn with broken glass. They're close to the edge, looming down over the dark rapids of the water too much for him to feel comfortable leaving any of these kids unattended. What's he going to do? Will Four or Six hear him if he calls for help? What will Dad think?

“Let me help!” a voice calls. The bus driver is conscious, blood on her face and arms from where the front window shattered against the bridge railing. She crawls out of her seat, in obvious pain, and makes her way down the bus of screaming middle schoolers. “You’re from that...Academy thing, right? I’ll climb out, and you can pass them to me, okay? We need to be quick, 'cause I think the bus is gonna go.”

Two is scared of that as well.

He assists the lady through the sideways door, and she drops down onto the street below, holding her arms up. “Pass them down! Hurry!”

So Two starts grabbing kids as quick as he can, tossing them out to the driver. His arms ache, but he’s had worse. One, a little girl of about five or six, refuses to go near Two, so he has to wrangle her from under her seat kicking and screaming. Her foot smacks into his face and he can immediately feel the sore beginnings of a new bruise.

“I can’t leave my brother!” an older boy protests as Two grabs his arm. There’s a younger one, maybe seven-years-old, knocked out and all twisted up in his seatbelt next to him. Two considers this for a moment.

“Hang on,” he says. He’ll get the loose kids out and do these last, as they’ll take the most time. He doesn't fancy wasting time trying to separate them.

There’s another unconscious kid, but he’s half on the floor. Two checks his pulse, and it’s there but faint. He drags the boy over his shoulder and stumbles down the bus' uneven side, re-opening his cut fingers on the broken glass. There’s sweat dripping into his eyes and his uniform shirt is sticking to his clammy skin.

“Is that all of them?” the driver asks urgently as Two passes the boy down. The other kids are huddled together, wide-eyed and in shock.

“Three m-m-mm,” Two shakes himself. “Three left.” The pair of brothers, and an older girl near the front with a broken leg who had insisted he help the little kids first.

Two makes his way to her, but before he can get there, the world seems to rock on its axis. The older brother screams and the bus teeters, the metal groaning and glass crunching. He catches himself on the wall in time to see the river far below yawn open through the windows. The wind shakes the bus violently.

The driver’s face appears in the portal of the door, haloed by the swiftly-approaching storm. “It’s gonna go! _Hurry!”_

“S-Shit!” Two yells. He reaches the girl, whose crying in big heaving sobs, all her dignity gone. Two would probably be crying if he could feel anything other than panic. “This m-mm _might_ hurt!” Two shoves his shoulder into her stomach and throws her over his shoulder. She’s heavy, probably heavier than him, but he stumbles along the creaking bus, past the two brothers, and nearly falls out the door.

The girl screams as her broken leg jostles, but Two frankly doesn’t care. He shoves her out to the driver, who is hustling the kids, antsy. “GO!” he orders. The cables holding the bridge up groan and creak in the sudden whipping wind. His eyes sting at the force of the gale as he glances up at the blackened sky.

She nods, hefts the girl with the broken leg over one shoulder and the unconscious boy under an arm. “Run!” she orders the kids. They all must trust her more than they do Two, as they follow like ducklings as she stumbles around the damaged cars and down the broken, uneven street towards safety.

Two stares for a moment, and then there’s a _twang_ sound. It takes a moment for it to register. His head lifts slowly. The cable supporting the bridge right above the bus has snapped. It’s flapping in the strong wind, thick and easily capable of knocking a person 20 meters. Probably fatally too.

He throws himself back into the bus as the cable whips through the air where he was standing just moments before. It shears the door on the back clean off, and that ricochets into an abandoned car. It would've decapitated him had his reflexes been just a second slower.

“Please! Help!” the brother screams, scrabbling at the little kid’s seatbelt. It’s wrapped around his arm and neck some three times over. Two’s surprised it hasn’t cut the circulation clean off, but the kid’s going blue, so that may not be too far off. “NICKY!”

Two crawls on his hands and knees as the bus rocks back and forth like a raft adrift in a storm. He careens into a seat at one point, and his ribs smart something fierce. He’s going to have some considerable bruises in the morning, but that's par for the course after missions. He's going to be lucky it's not something worse.

He grabs a knife, grabs the seatbelt, and saws for his life. It takes just three swipes to cut the belt in half, and he does that twice more and yanks the kid out of the seat and onto his lap, half-sprawled in the broken glass. The storm's so loud now he can barely hear the older boy screaming. Is there a _tornado_ or something?

 _“Two!”_ One appears at the back of the bus, eyes wide. He's peering in through the door. “Get out of there!”

Two grabs the unconscious boy and drags him across the glass, wholly sapped of enough energy to actually pick him up correctly. Hopefully, the kid won’t complain about the scratches if he’s still alive to tell the tale. The older brother clings to Two's blazer.

One grabs the older brother and pulls him up through the door. At the same time, Two uses his entire body weight to heft the unconscious kid onto his shoulders, pretty much using his head to shove into the boy’s back to get him up to where One can grab him. The bus wobbles dangerously at one point, but he manages to stay balanced. All his time on the balance beam is paying off.

“Hold him!” One orders, passing over the unconscious kid to his brother. It’s not raining yet, but the wind is crazy. Two’s never seen anything like it.

Two’s wedging his foot in the door to climb out when there’s a horrible shrieking sound and he finds himself tumbling out of control back down the bus, crashing into seats and smacking off the metal walls. It’s painful, but Two’s well versed in pain. Still, he can't keep in his yelp of pain. The world spins nauseatingly.

He crashes straight into the front window, and spiderweb cracks spread around him. His vision swims in black and white dots. He can see One haloed at the end of the bus, a lifetime away. Two groans and clutches his bloody face as he pushes himself up. He looks down - it’s a mistake, because, below him, hell seems to open up. A hundred feet down, the swirling black of the water, of death, is calling for him. The bus is swinging out over the edge of the bridge, and the only thing separating him from certain death is the paper-thin glass. One wrong move and he'd be a goner for sure.

“W-w-w-One,” he manages, frozen stiff. _“One!”_

“Don’t be scared, Two!” One calls. His voice cracks. “Just climb over the seats! I'll grab you!"

So Two does. Hand over hand, foot over foot, as the bus creaks and sways like the tree in the backyard he likes to climb, teetering over the edge. Any second now, he expects to feel his stomach flip up into his throat as he free-falls to his death. But, miraculously, he reaches the back of the bus and stands on the very last seat, staring up at his brother's anxious face.

One is so close, nearly vertically above him at this point. Two blinks up at him, at a loss.

“Take my hand, Two!” One reaches down through the door. His blond hair is slick with sweat, but his eyes are confident. Two hates One sometimes, but he trusts him as a brother should, knows One would never lead him astray. “Two!”

Two stretches up.

The bus rocks and he jolts, hand snapping back down to brace himself on the seat's slippery leather. One nearly falls in with how far he’s leaning through the door. Two hopes their brothers and sisters are safe, that they managed to run to safety when the bridge started to sway in the storm. Is Dad watching them right now? Watching Two _fail?_

“W-w-w-” He can’t get the word out; his brain is foggy, his face is wet with blood and tears. His stomach lurches as the bus does. “W-w-”

“Just grab my hand!” One begs, and Two can see the panic in his eyes now. He reaches again, and their fingers touch this time - he’s so sure he’s going to be able to grab his brother’s hand, but then One flies back and disappears from view. Two cries out in horror, open fingers reaching for the empty sky.

“One!” he manages. “One, please!”

One left him. He’s - he’s - he’s _gone,_ why did he _go_ \- 

Two jumps for the door, misses and realizes he’ll never be able to reach it by himself. He stares up at the hole and tears slide down his face. It’s not fair, it’s not _fair!_

He scrambles for the side window, and his knife is slippery in his hand as he pulls it out. If he can just -

He hears One’s voice. _“TWO!”_

The bus tips again. Two screams. He falls back and lands halfway down the seats, dazed and in pain. His body is so exhausted he’s close to giving up, but he drags himself to his feet and attempts the climb again. But his foot refuses to move, and he stares down at it. Somehow, in the fall, he’s ended up with a seatbelt tangled around his foot and ankle. It’s looped in on itself something fierce, mixed up with the laces of his shoe.

Two grabs for a knife, but his holsters are empty. His stomach flips in panic, and he looks around but doesn’t see them. Did he drop them when he fell? He’s - he doesn’t know what to _do_ -

 _“TWO!”_ It’s One again. Two looks back up the bus but doesn’t see anything but the dark, stormy sky.

Any shame he’d felt before now is gone. He just wants to go _home_ \- “Luther! _LUTHER!”_

His stomach lets him know before it happens.

It flips, flies up into his throat, and then the bus is free falling. There’s no noise, only the absence of it, the realization that this is how it ends, bloody and bruised, drowning in an empty school bus all alone. He opens his mouth for the fall, but no sounds come out. All air is sucked from his lungs at the speed from the speed at which he falls.

A second before he hits the water, just a blink of time, Two hears Luther, somehow audible above everything else. He knows instinctively that it's the last time he'll ever hear his brother's voice.

“ _DIEGO!”_

The bus hits the water hard and fast. The metal screams and Diego's panting, breathing in the cold air as fast as his lungs will allow him to, but it's not enough. The front window breaks, and water rushes up, quickly filling the bus. He has maybe seconds and, crying so hard he can barely see, Diego pulls fruitlessly at the seatbelt rubbing welts into his leg. He pulls and pulls, but it’s no use. He’s going to _die._

“H-help!” he cries as the water crashes up to his feet. “H-h-h-” It’s freezing. His thin uniform does nothing to protect him from the rush of pins and needles as the deadly black water eclipses his lower body and chest. He tilts his face up, stares at the roof of the bus as it rights itself. The water sloshes his chin.

Diego doesn’t want to die, but he knows he’s going to. Is this what that lady in the SUV felt, seeing the crash but unable to stop it? Knowing she was helpless, that’d she’d die alone? He wants to fight, it’s not _fair,_ he’s not _ready_ yet - ...But he knows life isn’t fair. It never has been when you’re a number. Diego sucks in one final gasp of air, his last breath before he drowns, closes his eyes tight, and lets the water finally cover his face.

As he drifts in the sudden silence, he thinks about Dad first. How disappointed he’ll be, how he’ll make Allison second-in-command now and be glad for it. He’s always hated Diego, always thought his power was useless. Throwing things is no good when there’s nothing to throw, after all, which makes him a liability. If that wasn’t bad enough, with how bad his stupid stutter is, it’s not like he strikes much of an intimidating picture.

He thinks about his siblings, about Ben and Klaus inviting him to come to their secret sleepover, about boring Vanya and her boring violin hobby he’s insanely jealous of, about Allison waiting for him to find his words and not interrupting, and Luther, peering down at him through the back of the bus, so - _so_ -

And Five, who’s probably dead, who he’ll see again any second now -

Mom - and _Mom no_ -

Diego opens his eyes. It’s dark, nearly pitch black, but the bus will take a while to reach the bottom of the fast-moving river. His hair slowly drifts in front of his face. If this is dying, it’s strangely peaceful. He’s alone, sure, but everyone’s alone in the end.

Tethered as he is to the seat, Diego sways in the faint current like a long slither of seaweed, just a small boy in a river ready to drown. He sways and sways, but there’s no light, no end, just swaying.

Eventually, he realizes that something should have happened. He knows how drowning should feel, seen it happen in educational videos during training, and even done CPR on a few civilians before. He’s aware of the intense burning drowning brings, the panic, the agony of a watery death. But...there’s nothing. No pain, no fear, only serenity.

He ponders this as time passes, and his vision slowly filters the light a little better until he can at least see his own hand in front of his face more. Diego pulls himself down and tugs carefully at the seatbelt that had held him in place. The tightness of his blazer on his shoulders limits movement, so he wriggles out of it and returns to the tangled straps.

Without his knife it’s slow going, and the water has tightened any knots to almost impenetrable levels, but he still he picks and picks until his nails hurt and his fingers wrinkle up like prunes. Diego pulls off his shoe, and that makes it far more straightforward. His ankle is rubbed raw, stinging at the river water's murk, but his foot slides free with little fanfare soon after.

He stares, stunned. He’s free. He’s - he’s still _alive!_

He toes off his other shoe so he’s balanced and kicks wildly to get himself to the bus's roof. It’s wholly submerged with water and nearly pitch black, so Diego spends an eternity feeling along the metal to orient himself to either the front or the back. He feels numb to panic, numb to most everything, so when his fingers finally hit something sharp - a broken window - he doesn't really react.

Diego feels around, pretty sure it’s the front of the bus, given the vast open space, and kicks himself free of his watery prison. For a moment, he floats free and weightless, suspended in the dark. High, high above his head, maybe 60 feet, is a speck of a moving shadow.

The surface.

Diego kicks, but he’s leisurely about it. He feels like he could float for a million years more and be at ease. What is there to worry about when he’s alone and free like this?

The closer he gets to air, the more he can feel the rough waters of the river. Deep below, it had been peaceful, but now he’s tossed about like a tiny fish in the ocean. Swimming gets harder, but he keeps his pace and listens to the crash of the waves above, watches bubbles explode across the surface. Is it raining?

He breeches with a gasp. It’s like being born again.

Diego's immediately drenched with rain, though that doesn’t make a difference given how waterlogged his clothes already are. The sky is black with clouds, and rain pelts down in large sheets that roughen the already-fast river water. Diego wonders how he’s even keeping afloat with how violent the current is.

The bridge is lit by bright floodlights, but down here the world is dark. It’s...night time? He paddles, trying to get close to the muddy banks bordering the river even as he’s swept further and further from the bridge. It takes what feels like a lifetime of chattering teeth and desperate kicking, but Diego remembers to draw on his rescue training, and, finally, his feet hit something substantial. The bottom of the river. He stumbles up on shaky legs, cold and hungry, and collapses in the mud. His uniform is ruined, and Dad is going to be _so_ angry.

Diego drags himself the last few steps on his hands and knees. He’s still half in the water, but it’s not like he can get any wetter, can he? He presses his face into the silt, uncaring of the mud and the grit. He needs to get back, to give Dad his mission report, Diego knows that, but he’s so _tired._ Can’t he just rest for a moment? Surely no one would ever find out...

He blinks his eyes open a few minutes later. The rain is still pelting down, and it slicks his hair heavily into his eyes. He’s still wearing his mask, and Diego reaches up to pull it away from his skin. It barely hurts with how much the river water’s eaten at the glue, so he puts it in his pocket. He’s already lost his blazer and shoes, and Diego's not about to let Dad punish him for tossing his mask too.

The bank is steep, slippery with mud, but Diego climbs it with the help of the tangled bushes and a dumped shopping cart. He reaches the street, which is fortunately lit with street lamps, as the sky is very dark now.

He walks, socks squelching through the sidewalk puddles, up the dark sidewalk towards the bridge. He can see flashing lights, people moving about. All the stores are closed, so it’s definitely past eight, and...didn’t they leave their mission at six? That...but that means...how _l_ _ong_ had he been down there? Diego’s pretty sure he should be _dead._

Diego examines himself to keep his mind off his aching muscles, the bone-deep tiredness sunk into his every pore. His fingers are torn up from all the broken glass, as are both his knees. One has a deep gash in it that’ll definitely need stitches, but the cold water has stopped the blood from pouring out because it only throbs with vague pain now. He palpates his face, considers stopping to stare at himself in a store window, but knows that he’d be unlikely to get his weak body to move again if he did that. Either way, though he remembers bleeding from his face earlier in the bus, there’s no apparent broken nose or split lip. His eye is sore, though, so it’s probably gonna bruise like a bitch.

When he reaches the bridge, Diego is surprised to see the car is still parked where he remembers leaving it. He would’ve thought Dad had gone home by now, marked Diego as a loss, but...maybe he’s still looking? Dad must know that Diego is resourceful, hard to kill. That he wouldn’t just _give up_ and let himself drown without a fight.

 _“DIEGO!”_ He jumps, heart racing. Over the sound of the rain, he can hear people calling his name over and over. Now that he can see them closer up, the floodlights are mostly pointed down into the river below the bridge. He’d breached further out, but he figures they probably wouldn’t have guessed that he’d be able to clear himself free of the bus. There’s a boat, too, and a news van he recognizes from Allison’s stupid teen beat interviews. They’re filming the people crawling about, the blue and red lights of the ambulances and police cars flashing on the rain-slick ground.

Then he sees a familiar head of dark curly hair, waterlogged with rain. It’s Klaus, and he’s peering into the bushes beside the bridge, soaked to the bone. He’s out of the way of the lights and people, but Diego had seen the ghost-white pallor of his brother’s skin in his peripheral vision.

“K-k-k-” The word comes out even worse than usual with how cold he is, how hard his teeth chatter. _“K-Klaus!”_

Klaus jumps, spins, and looks back up at the bridge. Realizing nobody there had called him, he turns in a slow circle, obviously confused. He does a double-take upon seeing Diego on the other side of the street, eyes bugging out of his head. The flashlight he’s holding slips out of his hand and clatters on the sidewalk, casting a long white beam on the wet sidewalk.

Diego realizes he probably looks like a total idiot, standing in the dark like he is. He hurries over to his brother, nearly slipping in a puddle. Klaus remains frozen stiff as Diego approaches.

He takes in his brother’s expression and ducks his head sheepishly, taking it for disapproval. “How m-m- _mm_...how _pissed_ is Dad?”

Klaus makes a complicated noise and sits down very suddenly on the wet ground. He puts his head between his knees, breathing fast. “This isn’t happening,” he mutters. “No, no, _no_ -”

Diego feels like he’s lost again, drifting out in that dark, silt-slicked river. He’s not sure what to _do._ “F-f-ff- _Four,”_ he tries, panicked. “It’s me, it’s Diego!”

“Right,” says Klaus. He peers up at Diego, rain pelting into his face and eyes. He stares and stares, then starts to hyperventilate, his green eyes taking in Diego’s soaked uniform, and his bloody hands and knees.

Diego reaches for him and Klaus yelps, scrambling backward like a crab. His breath whooshes out of his lungs irregularly, making his shoulders shake.

“Hey!” Diego yelps. He kneels, ignoring the sharp pain that causes, and pauses with his hands hovering in the air. “W-w- _what’s_ the matter?” He finally sets his hands down on his brother’s shoulders

Klaus stiffens at Diego’s touch. He examines Diego’s fingerless gloves, his bitten-down nails, and then follows that up his arm to his anxious face. _“Diego?”_

“Yeah?” His mind is racing. Has Klaus taken something? He likes to steal from Dad’s alcohol stash, and Diego’s pretty sure he sneaks out to do weed or something, but...surely not before a mission, right? He can’t be that stupid!

“You’re...you’re really here,” Klaus gasps. He jolts forwards, takes Diego’s face between his freezing cold palms, and turns it to and fro. “I’ve...never been able to touch them before.”

 _Them?_ Who the hell is -

Oh.

“I’m okay,” Diego reassures him quickly, feeling sick. Klaus thinks he’s _dead._ “I’m not -”

_“Diego!”_

Both of them jump, turn towards the voice. Clustered further down the bridge are two figures dressed in familiar uniforms. Vanya, her long braids stringy and bare legs probably freezing in the rain, and Allison, who has her blazer pulled up to protect her curls ineffectively. The voice came from Ben, though, who’s staring straight at them with his mouth agape. He's shivering.

“Six!” cries Klaus. He’s still sitting in a puddle with Diego crouched in front of him. “Can you see him too?!”

Ben breaks into a run, weaving between cars and arms pumping hard. Diego stands to receive him and is surprised when his brother leaps into his arms and clings like a baby monkey. His uniform is soaked through, but his breath on Diego’s neck is hot.

“Ben?” he asks, just standing there like an idiot. They’re not precisely a hugging family, after all. Klaus wraps them both up in his skinny arms and laughs madly, twirling Ben and Diego in circles, lifting their feet entirely off the ground.

“We,” Ben gasps. “We thought you were _dead!”_

Diego realizes that Ben is crying into his shoulder, big heaving sobs like the world is ending. His grip is tight, and Diego is pretty sure he’ll have even more bruises come tomorrow morning, but that doesn’t matter. He’s _never_ seen Ben so upset before, not even after the Horror misbehaves on a mission. That awful swirl of shame made itself known in his gut for letting them all down this much, for failing so badly to be a good second-in-command. What will Dad say? How badly will he be punished?

Only a few moments after Ben attaches himself, Vanya appears in his line of sight. She stares at his face, taking it in, her eyes wide and lips trembling. “Diego, is that really you? Dad...he said you drowned!”

“You sure look like you did,” says Klaus, finally pulling back to sweep his wet, stringy hair out of his eyes. He picks up his flashlight and turns it off, laughing.

“L-l-l-” _Focus, idiot._ “Likewise.”

“Ben, get off him,” says Klaus, tugging on the shorter boy’s arm. Ben remains stubbornly clinging to Diego’s side, fingers fisted tightly in his waterlogged sweater vest. “Ben! You’ll kill him for sure if you keeping holding on that tight!”

“It’s okay, Six.” Diego pats Ben’s back awkwardly because hugs are definitely Mom’s area of expertise. Not to say he doesn’t enjoy it, though, it's just weird. “Come on, let’s get out of the r-r-rr _rain.”_

Klaus bobs his head in agreement, grinning madly. “Before we freeze to death!” Diego can’t believe how stupid he’d been earlier. Of course, with his powers, Klaus would’ve presumed he saw a ghost. Diego can’t imagine how that must’ve felt, especially with how high-strung Klaus’ been about potentially seeing Five suddenly pop up. At this point, they’ve all silently agreed that there’s little chance their missing brother is merely living it up in Portugal. He would’ve come back for them by now if that were the case. He would've _come back,_ damn it.

Ben reluctantly peels himself away, looking like one of the bedraggled kittens they’d one stumbled upon in the backyard last summer. He scrubs at his nose and mumbles a weak little apology.

Diego, familiar with this teasing part of being a brother, gently slaps him upside the head. “Quit it.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” whispers Ben. Though he’s let go, he stays pressed right up against Diego’s arm, and Diego doesn’t mind it.

“I found you a blanket,” Vanya says shyly. “It’s in the car.”

“Oh,” Diego says, surprised. It’s not like he ever talks to Vanya, so why’d she do that? He feels a bubble of shame now, for ignoring her so much. After all, she _is_ his sister, even if she doesn’t have powers like the rest of them. “Thanks, Vanya.”

She smiles back, pleased, and hesitantly touches his arm. She pulls back quickly enough, but he still grins at her. He’s freezing cold and not wearing any shoes, and they’re all standing about in the pouring rain. Still, the only thing that would make him happier is if Luther, Allison, and Mom were here as well. And Five, of course.

“W-w-where’s Allison?” Diego asks before they head back to the car. “I saw her just n- _now_...” Why hadn’t she come to see him with Vanya and Ben? Had Dad told her not to? Was he really that disappointed? Was Diego in massive trouble?

Vanya frowns and looks over her shoulder to the people scuttling about. None of the adults had noticed Diego yet, which hopefully means there also won’t be evidence of him hugging Ben like a big baby. He loves his brother, but he doesn't want everyone making fun of him. “She ran off. I think to find Luther.”

“Luther,” Diego repeats. He can still see his brother’s hand just out of reach through the school bus' door, and it makes him shiver. He...doesn’t want to think about that ever again. “He’s -”

“With our old man,” Klaus cuts him off. “Dear old Dad was not happy about his little golden boy risking his behind to - _ouch!”_

Ben had poked him. “Quit talking about that.”

Klaus frowns and gives in, folding his arms across his wet blazer and sticking out his lower lip petulantly. “I was just saying.”

“See, I told you!” comes Allison’s voice as she grabs him from behind. There are twigs tangled in her hair and mud dirtying her usually-shiny uniform shoes. “I told you he’d be okay!” She presses her face in between his shoulder blades. Diego doesn’t think he’s ever been hugged so much before, especially not by Allison.

Standing behind her is Luther. At some point since Diego last saw him, he’s lost the majority of his uniform. He’s wearing only his formerly-white undershirt, uniform shorts and mask, all of which, including his pale hair and skin, are now caked with mud and dirt. He must be _freezing._

“Fancied a dip?” asks Klaus. He looks like he might start laughing any second and Diego knows how well that will go over. Hence, he quickly diverts Luther’s attention away.

“W-w- _what_ happened to you?” He’s never seen Luther so filthy before, not even that one mission where they ended up running through the sewers.

“I was looking for _you,”_ Luther spits, fists balling up. He looks pretty pitiful, though. Diego kind of hopes the press have snapped a picture of him like this so he can frame it above his bed. “I’ve been searching up and down for _hours_ -”

Diego stumbled on that first bit. “Dad sent you in there?” For _him?_ Had Dad really thought -

“Well,” Luther hesitates. “No, but -”

“Luther, for god’s sake!” Allison cries. “Give him a hug!”

Diego feels a hot trickle of embarrassment. “A-A- _Allison! “_

Luther apparently doesn’t feel the same, however, as he grabs Diego and, despite being the same height, lifts his feet off the ground and hangs on tightly. Diego is confident that he’s never hugged Luther once in their entire lives. It’s not _bad,_ but it is _weird._

“I’m sorry, Two.” Luther's voice cracks, and Diego can barely hear his voice with how muffled it is pressed into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I -”

“Did you really look for me all this t-t- _time?”_ He can’t imagine big, show-off Luther swimming about in some muddy river just to look for him, especially since they make a show of one-upping each other at every available opportunity.

Luther sets him down gently. They stand close together so they others can’t hear. Still, given the heaviness of the rain, Diego doubted they would’ve been able to anyway.

“Of course,” Luther frowns. He’s fidgeting with his hands, refusing to look up at Diego’s face. “You’re a part of this team.”

Diego feels that familiar swell of bitterness. Is that all he’s worth to Luther? “Right,” he mutters, angry at himself for even asking.

“I just meant - I -” Luther stumbles. He growls, thumps his fist into his leg. “I’m...glad you’re okay, Number Two.”

The bitterness recedes. Luther is emotionally stunted, but he tries, and that’s all Diego can really ask for. “It’s not your fault, w-w- _One.”_ Out of all their siblings’ names, One’s is the hardest for him to get through without stumbling. Something about the ‘w’ sound is particularly hard for his tongue to form.

Luther sniffs. Diego is stunned to see a few tears slip down his cheek before it’s roughly scrubbed away. “But I should’ve jumped in after you! I could’ve held the bus long enough for you to escape, or - or carried you to land, or -”

“Stop,” Diego snaps. “I don’t b-blame you, One.”

“But you should!” Luther cries, face scrunched up in self-hatred. “I’m the leader, Two, I’m supposed to look out for you all, and I should’ve listened when you wanted to clear the bus first -”

“Luther,” he says, to catch his brother’s attention. It sure does work. “All of that doesn’t m-m-mmm,” he flushes with embarrassment. “It’s doesn’t m-m- _matter._ I’m _not_ dead and - and so we don’t need to think about that stuff, okay?” Like how he survived being down in the river so long - how he didn’t drown.

“But how _did_ you get out? “

“I’d like to know the answer to that too,” Allison pipes in. Diego and Luther jump away from each other, embarrassed. Obviously, their brothers and sisters had heard more of their conversation than they’d thought.

Vanya shields her eyes free of the rain. “Dad said -”

Diego’s heard enough about Dad to last him a lifetime. “I...” Does he tell them what happened? Surely, Luther will go straight to their dad, and then Diego will have to do even _more_ specialized training. He can imagine how awful _that_ will be - “I swam out as soon as the bus hit the w-w-ww _water.”_

“And you managed to get to shore?” Klaus looks impressed.

That, at least, is true. “Yeah.”

“Did you stay there the whole time?” Luther looks like he’s buying it, but also upset at having not spotted him. “I...I must’ve missed you...”

“It was dark,” Diego hedges. “I think I p-passed out.”

Allison’s brow furrows. “For _two_ _hours?”_

“Then we need to get home so Mom can check you out, Two! You might have a head injury!” Luther orders. He peers at Diego’s head as if he’ll see any blood with how hard the rain is pelting.

“I’m fine,” Diego snaps.

“I think somebody needs an early night,” sing-songs Klaus.

“But Dad will want a report before bed,” Luther pushes his wet hair out of his face. “We have a responsibility -”

“Right,” Diego mutters. “Let’s just g-go home.” _Stupid_ Luther. All he thinks about is _Dad_ and being the _stupid_ leader -

“Number Two!” Speaking of Dad. Reginald marches over, umbrella shielding him from the rain. He looks as composed as ever, as if his son hadn’t been missing and thought dead in a fast-moving river. “Where on earth have you been?”

“He blacked out on the shore, sir!” relays Luther immediately. He’s such a snitch.

Klaus nudges him playfully. “Looks like all those extra workouts paid off, huh, Diego?”

“You managed to free yourself from the bus, Number Two?” Dad asks, and Diego straightens up, pleading internally for the words to come out like everyone else’s.

“Yes, s-s-,” Ugh, it’s so unfair! “Yes, _sir.”_

Dad looks them all over. Vanya, as silent as ever; Ben, once again huddled close to Diego; Allison, trying and failing to fix her hair; Klaus, pale and sickly-looking despite his jovial tone; Luther, barefoot and shivering in his undershirt; and Diego himself, bleeding and formerly-presumed dead.

“I expect a full report in the morning,” he finally says, already turning his back on them. “Children, return to the car while I inform the authorities that Number Two has apparently wasted their time.”

Diego isn’t sure what he’d expected, really. For Dad to hug him? Even the thought of that happening seems ridiculous. Dad spends his entire life trying to touch them as little as possible. Diego can vaguely remember holding his father’s hand at one point, but he’s unsure what the context had been. It’s probably just some dumb fantasy from when he was little, anyway. Back when he used to daydream that their dad was nice, and would read him bedtime stories, and carry him, and do other stupid family stuff. Little Diego was an idiot.

They watch him leave, and Klaus shakes his head. “That went better than I thought it would.” Diego privately agrees.

“Come on, guys,” says Allison, grabbing Diego and Luther’s arms. “Let’s get out of this rain.”

Klaus and Ben crowd them back towards the car, with Vanya trailing behind, and Diego gladly opens the door to climb in, feeling the heat hit him full-force in the face. Just as Vanya said, there’s a clean and dry wool blanket waiting on his seat. He wraps himself in it, closes his eyes, and listens as the others get into place and shut the door. It’s so quiet now.

“Psst, Diego,” Klaus hisses.

Diego peels his sleep-heavy eyes open once more. He tries not to get irritated with his brother. They did think he was dead, after all, so there’s probably some leeway there he should be allowing. _“What?”_

“Do you still want to hang out with me and Ben tonight? He wants to know.”

Ben sticks his head over the seat, mouth open in horror. “Klaus!” he cries. “You weren’t supposed to tell him I asked!”

“It’s okay, Ben,” Diego says, rolling his eyes. “I w-w-" _Focus._ "...I’ll come.”

“A secret sleepover?” asks Allison. She, Luther, and Vanya had been clearly eavesdropping. “How come we weren’t invited?”

“Even numbers only,” Klaus says unrepentantly. “No exceptions allowed.”

“How is that fair? Luther and I want to go too. Right, Luther?”

“Um,” Luther says, realizing that Allison is looking at him expectantly. “Yeah.”

“Drama queen,” mutters Klaus, then, louder: “Fine, fine. You can come. RSVP, Ben’s room, tonight. Mom’s making cocoa!”

Allison grins triumphantly because she always gets her own way in the end. “We’ll be there.”

“I guess,” Luther says. He smiles a little, though, so Diego knows he won’t snitch on them out to Dad. Luther can be okay, he supposes. _Sometimes._

“Can I sleep n-nn _now?”_ Diego grumbles, eyelids dropping.

Klaus waves a hand. “Ja, ja. You big baby.”

“Shut up, Klaus,” Luther says, and, just like that, he and Allison start a quiet conversation about some magazine they're having interviews for next week.

Klaus is humming to himself as he draws on the window.

Vanya sits quietly, lost in thought.

Ben is -

_“Diego.”_

Actually, Ben’s brown eyes are staring at him over the seat. His voice is barely above a mumble. As they all can agree, it’s impossible to be annoyed with Ben, so Diego merely sighs.

“Yeah?”

“Sorry for bothering you,” Ben whispers shyly. “I just wanted to say that I’m really happy you’re alright.”

Diego’s stomach twists with mushy _feelings._ “M-m-m _me_ too, Ben. Thanks.”

The doors at the front of the car open, and everyone quickly straightens up in their seats as Dad and the driver get in. The atmosphere is tense as Dad turns to regard them all over his monocle. Luther, who's sat next to him, look ridiculous in his wet undershirt, and the towel draped around his shoulders. On the other hand, they probably all look ridiculous, so it evens out.

“Well?” Dad asks, eventually. “What are you waiting for? I still have yet to hear how today’s mission went!”

Diego pulls the scratchy wool blanket up higher around himself and closes his eyes. It’s been a long day.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed my first ever TUA fic. Please do comment/kudos to let me know if you enjoyed and would like to see more!


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